


Just Nice

by LightsAnon



Category: Tekken
Genre: Canon Divergence, I wrote this at 4am, Jin is depressed and Hwoarang is good, M/M, Oops they kiss, Set between t3 and t4 roughly, that’s it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-02 00:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15785532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightsAnon/pseuds/LightsAnon
Summary: When the faces of Jin’s opponents blur together in his mind, there’s one that stands out.





	Just Nice

**Author's Note:**

> i am sorry. ill finish my other one soon i promise. 
> 
> .... this is only half beta read because I was falling asleep.

 

When he met him in the streets of South Korea, Jin didn’t think much of Hwoarang. Their match closed with a draw, and the only thing Jin felt was frustrated.

He crossed fists with the man again in the 3rd King of Iron Fist tournament. Then, Jin’s heart was set alight with the blaze of revenge, and nothing else mattered. In the final battles, he saw him, flaming hair and unbridled grin unmistakable. It was there, as the Korean danced around the arena, hurling taunts and insults, cheering when either did anything impressive, complaining when he messed up, that Jin’s tunnel vision broke. That smile was inescapable, and Jin was hooked.

 

 

A few months have passed now, and Jin is lost. He won the tournament, defeated Ogre and avenged his mother, but his father was still alive, and his grandfather had betrayed him. All that effort, the blood, sweat and tears he’d shed, and for what? What cash prize could stop his corrupt family, bring back his mother, rid him of the evil inside of him?

These thoughts haunt his mind constantly, and it is his search for an escape that lead to him walking down the streets of urban Japan. Lost in his pondering, Jin’s eyes pass over countless faces, street signs, and shops, until they catch ahold of something. A mess of red hair enter his focus, a look pure surprise that shift into determination, and before Jin has the chance to say anything, he’s being dragged into a nearby alleyway.

The two are away from the eyes of the public now, Jin pushes Hwoarang away. Not expecting the struggle, he falls back, but catches himself just before he collides with a nearby dumpster. If Jin was his old self, he might have apologised, but as he looks up at Hwoarang’s face, he sees that toothy grin, and is speechless.

“Fight me,” the redhead demands, falling into a defensive stance as if Jin might attack him then and there. He doesn’t. He doesn’t do anything. It takes far to long for his brain to register that, yes, human interaction does require some form of _interaction._

“Why?” Is all Jin manages, and in an instant the smile is gone, replaced with a deadpan look that is almost, _almost_ as charming.

“What do you mean, ‘why’? I want to fight, so let’s fight.”

A part of Jin doesn’t understand this reasoning. Another part doesn’t care. One part thinks, maybe, it could just be as simple as Hwoarang says it is. So he throws a punch, slow and quickly blocked, but it does the trick. Soon the two of them are throwing, kicking, punching and dodging all over the cramped side street, and Hwoarang is smiling. He kicks Jin square in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Jin grabs him on the way back and kicks the feet out from under him. Hwoarang grabs Jin’s wrists tight and then the two of them are falling down in a heap, together.

They’re best to each other on the dusty street, Jin on his side and Hwoarang on his back, their tired breaths echoing off brick walls. That smile is still there, and it’s all Jin can see. A beat passes, and Hwoarang’s mouth cracks open. Jin expects a taunt, or some half-hearted complaint, but what he gets is a laugh so genuine that he doesn’t resist when a laugh wells up from within him, too.

 

His chest warms as they laugh together, and Jin can’t help but stare at Hwoarang. His gaze catches on his eyes, that smile, those lips— and something clicks inside Jin. His breath catches in his throat as he realises something.

 _I like him_ , he notes, dwelling on the words as they sound inside his head. _I like him. I like Hwoarang_. The fire in his chest burns in affirmation. His heart is set to burst as he gives in to another desire before he even notices it’s there.

Hwoarang’s lips are dry and chapped, but soft underneath, Jin notes, with the realisation that he’s kissing him following. He pulls away as quickly as he leaned in. The smile is gone. Jin is crestfallen, searching for any sign that it was ever there. His rival is staring back, face blank and completely still. Jin can’t even see the rise and fall of his chest.

When Hwoarang stirs, Jin expects him to run, or yell at him, or something equally unpleasant that he tries not to think about. What he doesn’t expect is to feel one hand on his back and another on his neck as his rival pulls him closer, and yet there it is. Jin inwardly revels in the touch of those lips again, then again when he feels the other’s tongue pressing against his own lips.

Hwoarang is much more experienced than Jin is, which is to say, he has some experience outside of highschool trysts and self-discovery, so Jin follows his lead. Moments fade into minutes, and neither of them can say how many have passed when Hwoarang pulls away, but not before Jin feels the his smile pressed up against him. Jin never wants to feel anything else in his life.

They separate later on, after a conversation that Jin can remember nothing of other than that they promised to meet again, and that it was nice.

 _Nice_. Jin hasn’t felt nice in years. Not since his mother died, he thinks, and is surprised when that thought doesn’t weigh down his mood.

Even that night, as he lays in bed and stares at the ceiling as he often does, he doesn’t have to fight back his guilt, or his anger. _Maybe_ , he thinks as he drifts towards sleep, _maybe_ sometimes he’s allowed to feel just _nice_.


End file.
